Early in June, I left Frances lake with some of the men. We walked over the mountains to Pelly banks, and shortly after I started down stream in the canoe with the interpreter Hoole, two French Canadians and three Indians. As we advanced, the river increased in size and the scenery formed a succession of picturesque landscapes. About twenty-five miles from Pelly banks we encountered a bad rapid--"Hoole's"--where we were forced to disembark everything; but elsewhere we had a nice flowing current. Ranges of mountains flanked us on both sides; on the right hand the mountains were generally covered with wood; the left range was more open, with patches of poplar running up the valleys and burnsides, reminding one of the green braeface of the Highland glens. We frequently saw moose and bear as we passed along, and at points where the precipice rose abruptly from the waters edge the wild sheep--"big horn"--were often seen on the shelving rocks. They are very keen-sighted, and when once alarmed they file swiftly and gracefully over the mountain. When we chanced to get one we found it splendid eating--delicate enough for an epicure. In this manner we travelled on for several days. We saw only one family of Indians--"Knife" Indians--till we reached the junction of the Pelly with a tributary which I named the Lewis. Here we found a large camp of Indians--the "Wood" Indians. We took them by no ordinary surprise, as they had never seen a white man before, and they looked upon us and everything about us with some awe as well as curiosity. Two of their chiefs, father and son, were very tall, stout, handsome men. We smoked the pipe of peace together, and I distributed some presents. They spoke in loud tones as do all Indians in their natural state, but they seemed kind and peaceable. When we explained to them as best we could that we were going down stream, they all raised their voices against it. Among other dangers, they indicated that inhabiting the lower river were many tribes of "bad" Indians--"numerous as the sand"--"who would not only kill us, but eat us." We should never get back alive, and friends coming to look after us would unjustly blame them for our death. All this frightened our men to such a degree that I had reluctantly to consent to our return, which under the circumstances was the only alternative. I learned afterwards that it would have been madness in us to have made any further advance, unprepared as we were for such an enterprise. [Illustration: _DINNERTIME on the East Coast of Hudson Bay. H.B.C. "tripping" party enjoying a snack at sixty degrees below--with gloves on!_] Much depressed, we that afternoon retraced our course upstream; but before doing so I launched on the river a sealed can containing memoranda of our trip.